


Honestly, John

by shadowfax044



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Mild descriptions of violence, Pre-Reichenbach, mild descriptions of past violence, relationship for a case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfax044/pseuds/shadowfax044
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Turner's married ones need help. John isn't so sure he likes how Sherlock wants to go about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written pre-series 3, and I just went through and fixed it up. I hope you enjoy it!

John Watson was in the grocery debating whether to opt for flavor over value for several different items when his phone gave the distinct beep that meant only one thing:

He wouldn’t be buying any groceries this afternoon.

‘Oh, well,’ he thought as he pulled the phone from his pocket. ‘Maybe it will be a private—and therefore _paying_ —case, and I won’t have to make these decisions when I finally do get around to it.’

Grateful that he was both in a good mood and unusually determined to not let his ridiculous flatmate ruin that, John pulled open the message and read:

 

_New case, come to Baker_

_Street if convenient._

_SH_

 

Chuckling, John put the phone back in his pocket and set down the one item he had managed to pick up already, heading toward the exit while waiting for the inevitable follow-up text.

Smiling when his phone beeped again, he opened the new message.

 

_I hardly think it necessary_

_to add this, but I shall_

_stand by tradition:  
_

_If inconvenient, come_

_anyway._

_SH_

 

John’s reply was short and simple.

 

_As always, Sherlock, I’m_

_already on my way._

 

* * *

 

When John got home to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson popped her head out of her kitchen doorway and said, “Tell Sherlock I’ll be up with the tea service in a minute, and remind him that this is a one-time thing, I’m not your housekeeper, after all!”

Smiling widely, John said, “Of course, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll remind him.”

Mrs. Hudson gave John a half-wry, half-amused approximation of a smile and went back into her kitchen.

When John walked into the living room of the flat, Sherlock was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, muttering to himself and completely ignoring the three people sitting on the sofa. The visitors looked up when he entered, so he put on a smile and walked forward to introduce himself.

“Hello! I’m Dr. John Watson,” he said as he reached out to shake the woman’s hand. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.

The woman was around fifty years old, by John’s estimation, and had short, dark brown hair. When they shook hands, John noted her firm grip. “Elaine Turner, I own 217, the place next door.”

‘Ah,’ thought John, ‘so I have seen her before.’ Out loud, he responded, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Turner. Mrs. Hudson has mentioned you fondly.”

Smiling, she indicated the young men seated next to her. The twenty-somethings stood and shook hands with John also. The taller, more muscular one with the strawberry-blonde hair spoke. “My name is Alex Nelson, and this is my husband Robert.”

“Hello,” Robert offered along with his hand. He was dark-haired, a few inches taller than John, and very skinny.

“A pleasure.” John indicated for the gentlemen to sit down as he moved to his own chair. Mrs. Hudson came in at that moment and started passing around tea.

Mrs. Turner spoke again. “Thank you, Patricia. This looks lovely.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson sighed happily, “it’s nothing, dear. I just hope my boys can help yours.”

John, wanting to get down to the heart of the matter, used this as his opening. “What is it that we can do for you gentlemen?”

Robert looked at Alex with worry in his eyes before turning back to the doctor. “It’s… well, we have several friends who have gone missing in the last week, and we’re rather worried about them. Caleb isn’t the type to just stop answering everyone’s calls. He’s the most social man that I’ve ever met.”

Alex interrupted then. “Mitch is, though—the type, I mean. He’s gone off without saying a word to anyone quite a few times before. Ordinarily, we wouldn’t be worried, but… one thing he _doesn’t_ do is miss a special occasion. He and his boyfriend were celebrating their ten-month anniversary this past Thursday, but he’s been MIA since Tuesday morning, and we still haven’t heard anything. Will—the boyfriend—is really worried, and we are, too, because Caleb disappeared the Wednesday before that, and we still haven’t heard anything.”

“What have the police said?” John asked. “You have spoken to them…?”

Robert nodded firmly. “We spoke to them on Thursday last week about Caleb, and they told us we had to wait forty-eight hours before he could be deemed ‘missing.’ So we went back Friday evening and filed a report, but as we’ve nothing to go on, there hasn’t been any news.”

“When Mitch went missing,” Alex added, “we didn’t think anything of it right away. Thursday—or, yesterday, I guess—when Will had still not heard from or seen him, we went to the police again. They were skeptical, because they asked us about Mitch’s character, and we told them he could be a bit flighty, but they let us file the report.” Alex sighed deeply. “The thing is, we know that it’s serious, because Caleb wouldn’t do this sort of thing, and Mitch wouldn’t skip out on Will. He might like to have his ‘alone-time’ for writing, but he knows when he needs to be somewhere.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Robert said, “What really worries us is that they are both close with us and several others of our friends, and that they disappeared so closely together. We’re afraid that… their disappearances are somehow connected.”

Nodding, John asked, “And that’s why you decided to come to us?”

“That was my idea,” Mrs. Turner interjected. “Patricia speaks very highly of you boys, and I hoped that you’d be willing to look into this.”

“We’ll pay, of course,” Robert insisted. “We can’t offer much, but all of the mates chipped in when we said we were going to a pair of private investigators.”

Sherlock didn’t pause in his pacing, but he finally spoke up. “Money is immaterial.”

Before Sherlock could say anything about whether or not the case was _interesting_ enough for him to involve himself in, John cleared his throat and said, “What matters right now is finding your friends.”

Alex blinked in surprise but moved on quickly to ask, “Is there anything else you need from us?”

Sherlock finally stopped pacing, dropped into his armchair, and asked, “Where was the last place they were seen?”

Robert hummed before responding, “We had an early supper at one of our favorite pubs—it’s called The Lonely Soldier—last Wednesday when Caleb went missing. We were having a quadruple-date: Alex and I, Caleb and Parker, Dennis and Matt, and Angela and Janie. It was the first time we had gone out with Caleb and Parker since they’d gotten together two months ago.”

“All gay couples?” the doctor asked. He wasn’t terribly surprised; his sister was a lesbian, so he knew that people in that community tended to band together for emotional support in a world that didn’t quite accept their relationships the way that it should. And he especially could appreciate that the support would be needed; after all, he still wasn’t comfortable with certain... well, that wasn’t really important just at that moment.

Alex nodded. “Yes, that pub generally attracts the rainbow crowd. We go there a lot, once or twice a week, generally. Mitch and Will, and two of our close friends who are currently unattached—Justin and Andy—weren’t with us that night. Mitch is a journalist, and he had a deadline to meet, so he and Will stayed home. Justin was visiting his family for his mother’s birthday, and Andy was working that night—he’s a university student that’s part-timing as a bartender.”

“And the last time anyone saw Mitch?” Sherlock prodded impatiently. John shot him a glare and shook his head slightly, showing his disapproval, which Sherlock of course ignored.

“Well…,” Alex hedged, “the last time any of us _saw_ him was at the same pub. I was there for lunch with him, Will, and Justin on Tuesday. But Will said Mitch called him from the office at around four o’clock saying that he was going to pick up dinner and then meet up with him at Will’s flat, but he never showed. Will just assumed that a story came up and he’d gone back to his place to write until all hours of the night, or had gone out to interview someone, and had forgotten to call. Like we said, he tends to do that a lot. Will called us both on Wednesday asking if we’d heard anything. He was worried, but not as much as he was when Thursday came and went with no word.”

John could tell that Alex and Robert were very worried, for their missing friends and for the partners of those friends. Sympathizing with their concern, the doctor said quietly, “We’ll do whatever we can to bring them home.” Robert seemed to relax at that, but Alex still sat stiffly.

Sherlock suddenly blurted out, “What does Caleb do for a living?”

“Um, he’s a legal secretary at a law firm.”

Humming at Robert’s response, Sherlock stood and resumed pacing. “Well, there’s two theories shot. Twelve more possible, five that are likely, two probable.” Raising his voice slightly, he asked, “Was there any sort of romantic or sexual history between Caleb and Mitch?”

John winced slightly at the less-than-tactful question, but he listened intently to Robert’s response. “Not… that I’m aware of. We knew Caleb before any of our group had met Mitch, and Caleb has rarely been without a partner in all the three years we’ve known him. And he’s the very _last_ person that would ever cheat on anyone.”

“Hey,” Alex protested playfully, “shouldn’t that title go to us?”

Smiling at his husband, Robert said, “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Better.”

John felt something inside him ache to have that kind of trust and familiarity with a partner. The problem was, he could never commit himself fully to any woman he had ever been with, even before meeting Sherlock, who had been the issue all of his most recent dates had left him over. Not that he had ever cheated—that was a line that he would never cross—but he had never felt comfortable enough to share his whole self with anyone. Sherlock had honestly come the closest, but because John had never... confronted that part of himself, he was still looking for a woman who could pull him out of his shell.

Sherlock had continued to pace and mutter to himself through the brief exchange between the husbands, but John was certain he had catalogued it anyway, for however brief a time. After a few more moments, the consulting detective nodded decisively to himself, turned to the room at large, and said, “John and I will go undercover. I’ll need to speak with both Mitch and Caleb’s bosses about being ‘hired on’ at one or both places temporarily, and I’ll find out what they were working on that might have related to one another’s jobs. You’ll have to introduce us to your friends also, but it would be wise not to tell them that we are the ones on the case. Most people are incapable of acting convincingly enough.”

“Sherlock,” John began to scold him. Something occurred to him then, though, so instead he asked, “Hold on, I thought you said ‘we’ are going undercover. If you’re taking jobs at both places, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

Giving John a look that spoke volumes about what Sherlock perceived to be his level of intelligence, the taller man said, “Honestly, John, I would have thought that would be obvious. You’re to be my boyfriend.”


	2. Chapter 2

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, just blinking at him. When he had finally found his voice box, he asked flatly, “What?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but before he could repeat himself—which he loathed—John said, “Pardon me, what I meant to ask was, ‘Why?’”

Briefly smiling at John in that special way that only Sherlock Holmes could do (namely, without any change in the set of his mouth, but something distinctive about his eyes), he explained, “Both individuals that were taken have homosexual partners, were part of this particular group of friends, and regularly visited The Lonely Soldier, which was the last place either of these men were seen. If we are to discover what else they had in common that led to their kidnapping, we’ll need to imitate them as thoroughly as possible.”

For the time being, John put aside his concerns and refocused on their clients. After setting up a time to meet up with Alex and Robert at the Lonely Soldier and be introduced to their friends, John walked the couple and Mrs. Turner to the door, Mrs. Hudson accompanying them.

When John returned to the living room, Sherlock was seated on the couch with John’s laptop, intently reading something.

John sat in his chair, watching Sherlock as he read who-knows-what. After a few moments, the consulting detective sighed and looked up. “Yes, John?”

The doctor shrugged. “Just wondering how much worse this is going to make the comments and assumptions about our relationship, is all.”

Sherlock sat perfectly still, saying and doing nothing for a few moments. Finally, he said, “I suggest doing some research into homosexual relationships, John, as you have no personal experience to draw from.”

Sighing, John responded, “Sherlock, that doesn’t answer—”

But Sherlock cut him off, adding, “It would be best to include visual and written accounts of sexual relations. I’d rather not have you blushing and spluttering every time such things are mentioned. I understand that such a topic tends to arise quite often among adult friends, so we’ll need to be prepared.” John did just as Sherlock had predicted, and after observing this for a few moments, Sherlock amended, “On second thought, this is a much more genuine reaction, far more convincing. Disregard that piece of advice.”

John could feel that his face was bright red, but he cleared his throat before persevering. “Sherlock, this is a _terrible_ idea! We’ll _never_ be convincing enough to fool anyone….”

“Honestly, John,” Sherlock sighed, “we have half of New Scotland Yard convinced just by virtue of being ourselves. Just add a little physical contact and all of their plebian minds will be entirely convinced.” With that said, Sherlock buried his nose back into the laptop.

John pondered on what Sherlock had said. It was true that they were constantly teased, but John had never really considered whether or not people really _believed_ that what they insinuated was actually true.

Finally, the doctor worked up enough courage to ask, “You… think that they actually believe it, then?”

‘Confused’ was not a term that could often be applied to Sherlock Holmes, but in this moment, it fit. “Of course they do. It’s obvious, John.” Voice tentative, he asked, “If you thought they didn’t really believe that we are a couple… why do you always deny it so emphatically?”

John froze. ‘Don’t make me think about why. I spend half my energy _not thinking about it_.’

* * *

Over the next several hours, Sherlock periodically read aloud and explained snippets of the things he was reading for “research”:

“This couple seems to spend a ridiculous amount of time staring at one another, John.

“‘He trailed his fingertips lightly down the back of the blonde’s neck.’ This seems to lead directly to a sexual encounter. Perhaps we should employ this when leaving the company of others, then, to convince them of our physical relationship.

“It seems the more dominant partner often leads the other with a hand at the small of the back.” This time, Sherlock paused in thought. Finally he asked, “Would that be the more dominant _in_ the bedroom, or outside it? Because with us, that would be different.”

John felt his face flush deeply. “ _Sher_ lock!”

Rolling his eyes when he saw the blush on John’s face, Sherlock sighed. “Honestly, John, you know that all I have to do is text you and you’d come running. In the bedroom, though, I’m certain that I would submit to your superior experience and confidence. So, is it the private- or public-dominant partner that would do the leading?”

Trying to ignore the reaction to Sherlock’s admission that his body _was not_ having, John cleared his throat and said, “It depends on the situation, and who is instigating the action.” He hoped that was sufficient—he didn’t think he could say anything further just yet without letting a moan escape. ‘A moan of frustration, of course,’ he tried to convince himself.

Sherlock simply nodded, apparently understanding what John couldn’t say.

The last piece of advice Sherlock gave John before sending him upstairs to get ready was on which specific articles of his clothing he should wear.

“And no jumper, John Watson!”

* * *

“Once we’ve apprehended the kidnapper, he’ll be out of your hair, I promise you,” John assured the editor of the magazine. Sherlock had, as usual, put his most annoying foot forward and not precisely impressed the two men he had talked to about temporary jobs with the same businesses at which the kidnappees worked. He now had two part-time jobs—in name and appearance only, of course, because no boss could deal with Sherlock for that long.

The detective in question strode superiorly toward the elevators, ignoring the indignant editor behind him and knowing that John would follow him. (‘Because I’m the dominant one in public,’ Sherlock thought to himself as he pressed the elevator call button.)

John walked up just as the elevator was opening its doors. Once the pair was inside and the doors had slid closed, John asked, “Is it really necessary to treat people like that?”

“Honestly, John,” Sherlock sighed. “When people act like idiots, do you not think they deserve to be treated as such?”

“Sherlock, all he did was tell you that your request was highly unorthodox and ask you if he could speak to the men in charge of hiring first.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock insisted. “It is a kidnapping case, John. We are unaware as yet what the kidnapper wants from the two men he or she has taken, and we need to act immediately. The man was about to hinder our investigation and delay it needlessly.”

Unsure whether to take this as Sherlock _caring_ or Sherlock wanting to get on with the case (which would be infinitely more likely, but John couldn’t help but wonder), John nevertheless smiled softly and said, “Alright, I can understand that. But in future, can you at least _attempt_ to do so politely?”

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes in reply.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were exiting the cab two blocks from The Lonely Soldier. Without warning, Sherlock reached out with his left hand and took John’s right. John would have shaken him right off, but the taller man held firm. Before John could object, Sherlock said, “We’ll need to remain in character from now until the end of the case, John. We can’t risk the kidnapper seeing us and finding out that we aren’t romantically involved.” 

John considered objecting, but he knew it would be both useless and counterproductive, so he squeezed Sherlock’s hand in acquiescence and followed his flatmate to the pub.

On the way, John helpfully remarked, “You know, while holding hands, it is customary to walk more slowly.”

Sherlock obligingly slowed his pace but asked, “What difference could speed possibly make?”

“Well, you walk faster than most individuals to begin with,” John explained, feeling a bit like their roles had momentarily been reversed. “And most people would subconsciously act to prolong their contact with a romantic partner, ergo the slower speed.”

Nodding thoughtfully, as if both acknowledging the logic and actually archiving the idea away in his mind, Sherlock continued at his slower pace, perhaps even decreasing his speed a tad further. John blushed to himself when he realized that he had just made it necessary to hold Sherlock’s hand _in public_ for a longer period of time.

When they entered the pub, Sherlock began looking around the room, asking John, “Do you see Alex and Robert anywhere? We didn’t ask what their friends look like.”

John’s brow furrowed, and he almost asked Sherlock why he was speaking that way (usually he would have said more   posh, like ‘they had not inquired after their friends’ appearances’) when he realized that the man had already dropped into character. Aiming his questioning look around the pub, he finally spotted the pair at a table to their left, so John tugged on Sherlock’s hand, indicated the table with a short toss of his head, smiled his most sexy-and-confident smile at his friend, and pulled the man along toward the table.

Robert was the first to spot them, and his smile told John that he was both relieved and actually excited to see the pair of them. ‘Maybe we’ll make a couple friends of our own out of this case,’ the doctor thought to himself. Robert got his husband’s attention and pointed out the pair of detectives. Alex and John waved to each other shortly before John and Sherlock arrived at the table.

“There you blokes are! We were wondering where you’d got to,” Alex exclaimed happily. “Lads, this is John”—the doctor waved and smiled—“and Sherlock”—a simple nod and a slight quirk of the lips. “They’re the blokes we were telling you about.”

Robert proceeded to introduce the other men around the table. Justin, a short brunette, and Andy, a stocky redhead, were both there stag, though neither looked like finding a companion was on their minds that night. Will, who was a thin man with raven hair and tear-fresh eyes, was sitting with his head down, staring at his pint and barely acknowledging the newcomers. Parker, a tall but well-built man with auburn hair, was sitting next to him, obviously also suffering but not allowing it to show as much. Dennis and Matt, a thin brunette and a muscular blonde respectively, were looking much better, but Matt showed signs of lack of sleep. Overall, it was not a particularly happy company that John and Sherlock were joining that evening.

Alex pulled over two additional chairs, John sitting in the one next to Robert, Sherlock on his right next to Matt. The discussion from before the new couple had joined resumed, the only change being the presence of the undercover detectives…

… and Sherlock’s arm around John’s shoulders.

‘Just… relax, John. It’s no big deal.’

 **‘Ah, but you want it to be, _’_** the traitorous part of his mind—the part he often attempted (successfully) to repress—whispered back.

‘No,’ John insisted to himself. ‘No, I really _don’t_.’

Pulling himself back to the situation at hand, John heard Sherlock speaking to Matt. “Terrible business, your friends disappearing like that.”

Matt nodded with a frown. “Yes, it is terrible. What’s worse is that… well, Will told me in confidence that he was planning to propose on their anniversary. Poor boys, I hope they find Mitch and bring him home. Will and I have been friends for years, and I know how much the two of them are in love. They deserve to have their chance together, y’know?”

John made a mental note to consider jealousy as a motive, but he kept his mind focused on the present. Sherlock spoke up then. “Alex and Robert were telling us that Mitch is a journalist, and Caleb works in a law office. We met them when they were visiting a private detective, so it was on their minds, you see.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, “they mentioned that. Bit o’ trouble yourselves, then?”

Shaking his head determinedly, Sherlock insisted, “No, nothing like that. We know the men they hired, were just visiting.”

Matt hummed and looked at Sherlock speculatively. “They any good?”

Smiling confidently, John leaned around Sherlock’s shoulder and said, “The best you can find, I promise you.”

Turning to look at John, Sherlock smiled. ‘Both fake and real,’ John noted distractedly. ‘The set of his mouth is for show, and the look in his eyes is for me.’

Blushing slightly but forcing himself to smile back, he thought, ‘No, not for _me_ , but to let me know that he appreciates the compliment. That. Is. _All_.’

**‘Keep telling yourself that, Watson.’**

Matt spoke to the both of them. “Wow, you two are really in love, aren’t you? I haven’t seen someone look at their partner like that since the day Alex and Robert got married.”

“Like… what, exactly?” John questioned, hoping that he didn’t sound unconvincing in his role in that moment.

Instead of Matt, Dennis answered. “Like they never need to speak a word to have a conversation.”

“And like they’ll be ripping clothes off as soon as ditching the company,” Justin added from across the table, a smirk on his face. Apparently the rest of the table had joined in on their conversation without John noticing, because everyone else started laughing at them, too.

Biting his lip and blushing even more deeply, John looked intently at the drink in front of him. He felt Sherlock lift the hand of the arm around his shoulders, and a moment later, light fingertips were trailing across the back of his neck.

John had never known before that he had a highly ticklish-yet-erogenous zone on the back of his neck, but he certainly did _now_. He tuned out the jokes about blushing virgins and why Sherlock hadn’t corrected that yet.

He only refocused on the conversation when Sherlock said, “Oh, no, it’s not that at all. Johnny just blushes easy, don’t you, love?”

John froze for a moment at the nickname, but then the fingertips graced his skin again, and he shivered slightly, refocusing on his role and listening to the conversations.

Time passed, and half of their party had left—Alex and Robert giving both Will and Parker rides home to make sure they got there safely—when the detectives finally heard something that might have bearing in the case.

“Yeah, my ex-wife doesn’t want me to have any custody of the kids because of Dennis,” Matt was saying. “She thinks that gay men are dangerous to children, which is a load of shite, but she’s gotten an expensive lawyer and plans to battle me out for it. It’s been in the local gay community mags, but there hasn’t been a whole lot of talk over it yet. We’re still waiting for a court date.”

John could practically _hear_ Sherlock focusing in on the topic. “You’re right, that is a load of shite. What kind of idiot would think that gay men are a danger to children by virtue of them being gay?”

Matt huffed humorlessly. “Sherry O’Connell, tha’s who. Crazy woman wants to take my kids away from me, but she isn’t going to, no sir.”

Matt was more than slightly tipsy at this point, but John decided to ask anyway, hoping that the man was an honest drunk. “Crazy like, she’ll-never-believe-the-truth crazy, or straight-jackets-and-padded-rooms crazy?”

Dennis laughed then. “If she’s off ‘er meds again, it’ll be straight-jacket crazy, but ‘er lawyer says she swears up and down that she’s takin’ ‘em.”

“Right,” Sherlock mumbled. After a moment, he turned to John and asked, “Ready to go home, love? It’s late, and we both have work tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Andy, the only other remaining friend, asked, “what do you blokes do?”

“I just started a part-time job at Wickham Law, just to keep busy. John’s a doctor.”

Dennis’s brow furrowed. “That’s the law office that Caleb works at. He’s the one who suggested our lawyer, who also works at that firm. That’s a coincidence.”

Sherlock hummed in what seemed like slight interested. “Odd coincidence, that. Like I said, I’ve only just started. I haven’t met Caleb before.”

With that, Sherlock stood and took John’s hand one more time. They said their goodbyes, and Sherlock put his hand on the small of John’s back to lead his partner out of the pub and down the street a ways, from which they hailed a taxi. John almost relaxed inside the cab, but Sherlock scooted close to him and placed a hand on his knee, telling the driver, “221 B Baker Street, and make it snappy, please.”

John gritted his teeth. “ _Sher_ lock!”

The man in question tutted. “Honestly, John, I’m sure he’s had slightly-inebriated and more-than-slightly-amorous passengers before. Nothing new, certainly.”

John sputtered for a moment before the cabby said, “My son’s got a boyfriend, been together two years now. No judgments here, boys, I promise!”

Sherlock smiled at John mischievously. “There! You see? Not a problem.”

John could tell that Sherlock was smug because they had managed to fool a whole room full of gay men and not just the cabby.

The doctor was worried that even _he_ might be fooled before too long.


	3. Chapter 3

Before John could really start to panic about what this case was going to do to his psyche, Sherlock turned to John, winked with his far eye, and then moved to nuzzle into John’s neck.

The doctor felt his eyes close and his breath speed up. Sherlock’s breath was warm on his neck, which was still sensitive from the petting it had received in the pub. The heated breath was soon joined by first a nose and then soft, smooth lips. Trails were marked up and down the right side of John’s neck, each pass making his breathing speed and his face flush further in what was undeniably excitement and not shame.

When he could finally focus his mind, John realized that the hand on his knee had now migrated nearly halfway up his thigh. Sherlock was periodically squeezing lightly, and John could feel his blood start to flow south. The hand moved up his thigh again, squeezing a little more tightly as a breathy whisper near his ear sighed, “ _John_.”

Before his body could embarrass him too badly, though, the cab stopped.

Sherlock teasingly pried himself off of John, paid the cabby, and dashed from the car. He was fumbling—or appearing to fumble—with the keys when John finally managed to get himself out of the taxi. Sherlock soon had the door open and was pulling John inside after him.

The change in the consulting detective was immediate and disorienting.

“Well done, John,” he said as he straightened his suit. “You put on an admirable show as a homosexual man in a committed relationship.” Smirking in a knowing way that made John think he wasn’t quite so unaffected as he seemed, Sherlock added, “You even fooled the cabby.”

With that, Sherlock was off to the sofa in the living room, hands steepled under his chin as he lay there, obviously lost in his thoughts.

John shook his head to reorient himself before turning to the stairs and heading to bed, not bothering to remove his clothes before falling onto the mattress and drifting immediately off to sleep.

* * *

About four hours later, which would make it three thirty in the morning, John got a text.

 

_Possible break-_

_through in the case,_

_come downstairs.  
_

_SH_

 

As soon as John got downstairs, he put a hand to his forehead and whined, “Sherlock, you may not sleep while on a case, but I _do_ , and it’s half-past three in the morning!”

When he lowered his hand, he gave a start. Sherlock was standing right in front of him, looking down at him, their faces only a few inches apart.

“Ah! _Sherlock_ , don’t _do_ that!”

With a small smirk, the taller man said, “You’re the one who entered a room without looking where he was going, John.”

John sighed. “What’s this ‘possible breakthrough,’ then?”

Sherlock started pacing the length of the room. “We need to check memo records at the magazine office. It’s possible that Mitch wanted to cover Matt’s custody suit against his ex-wife and has been asking for permission from his editors. It would make sense for the ex-wife to be holding someone from both Matt’s lawyer’s office and the popular magazine that may or may not be covering the story.” Sherlock grabbed both their coats and handed John’s to the doctor. “She’d want information, or leverage, something to prevent Matt and Dennis from getting custody of the children. And we’ll need to check out her apartment if those things check out. I doubt she’d be holding them there, but we’d be able to see what meds she takes.” Sherlock headed out the door and down the stairs, John following as he donned his coat. “That would tell us whether she is capable of kidnapping, and what she might do with her kidnapping victims if they cannot or will not give her what she asks for.”

At this point, the pair was getting into another cab. John hoped (worried?) that Sherlock’s excitement over a possible break in the case would cause him to forget about their current cover.

And then Sherlock grabbed John’s hand, leaned into him, and sighed. “I am eighty-seven percent certain that this is the answer. I hope it is, because I would like to return Caleb and Mitch to their partners, assuming it isn’t too late already.”

John was alarmed. “Do you really think it could be?”

Sherlock shrugged, which was unlike him, but John supposed it could be part of their cover. “I hope not, for Parker and Will’s sake.”

It was a little surprising, but John thought this last statement actually sounded sincere. “You’re… actually concerned for Will and Parker?”

“Yes,” he whispered, almost sounding… _shy_.

‘Shy? _Really_? But… that’s impossible for Sherlock Holmes,’ John thought.

‘Isn’t it?’

Then Sherlock looked up at John, squeezing his hand tightly and admitting, “I think I can understand now how someone must feel when put into their situation.”

Despite his blush, John kept his eyes locked with his, trying to determine if the genius had meant what it sounded like. When there was nothing in Sherlock’s eyes to indicate otherwise, John took a moment to determine if he felt the same. Even though he had spent most of his life convincing himself that he was decidedly _not gay_ … he had to admit that losing Sherlock would feel like losing a partner, a lover, even.

Slowly, not letting himself look at the man while he admitted this, John whispered, “I…. Yes, Sherlock. Me, too.”

John was treated then to one of Sherlock’s rare, true full-face smiles. The doctor was just debating whether to lean over and kiss the madman— _his_ madman—for the first time when the cab pulled to a stop outside the magazine office building.

Smiling ruefully, Sherlock paid the cabby (‘Two times in one night, that’s definitely a record.’) before leading John ‘round the back of the building to the security entrance.

Sherlock charmed his way into the building and up to the office by explaining to the security guard that he was newly employed there and wanted to impress his date with a visit up to the office. John could hear the whole conversation, but he didn’t think the guard was aware of that fact.

“Just a quick tour of the office, I promise. We won’ make no trouble, I just want to show ‘im ‘round, is all.”

Eventually the guard agreed, reminding the two men that there were security cameras all over and not to get into any ‘mischief’ (she added a wink here).

It took them no time at all to find several memos on the editor’s desk in which Mitch Randall asked permission to cover the custody battle between Matt Harding and Sherry O’Connell Harding in his next article for the magazine. Each one was denied except for the most recent…

...which was dated the day he was kidnapped and time-stamped with an approval at 2:37 pm, but hadn’t left the editor’s office.

Mitch had never even seen the memo.

* * *

From there, they caught another cab (Sherlock still snuggling, this time with a little reciprocation from John) to the law offices. Sherlock had a little more trouble getting them in this time—security at a law firm is much tighter—but it helped that he had been given a minimum-access key card that he could show the night guard to let them into the building itself. 

He’d stolen a full-access card from one of the firm’s partners, which he used once inside to access the case files.

Luckily, Matt had hired the same lawyer for the divorce proceedings, and all of the properties currently owned by Miss Sherry O’Connell Harding were on a neat little list.

* * *

They visited her current residence first, just as Sherlock had originally suggested. They still needed to get an idea of the kind of woman they would be dealing with.

The medication she was taking for her mental health problems was Zyprexa, which was an antipsychotic often used to treat severe cases of bipolar disorder.

“Damn,” John muttered. “Completely unpredictable then, if she’s off her medication.”

“Is she likely to kill or seriously injure?”

John sighed. “Injure, yeah, probably. Anyone is capable of harming someone, either physically or psychologically, and a depressive state would increase the chances of that. But murder… that would depend on the type of person she is when she’s using her medication properly. If she has anger or violence issues while taking her meds… then yes, it is likely that she is capable. Whether killing either or both of them would further her plans, though, might have some bearing. We’ll need to find her quickly—I don’t want to take any chances.”

Nodding, Sherlock headed from the door. “Good thing you’ve got the gun,” he said as he dialed his mobile. When the line was picked up, Sherlock immediately said, “Mycroft, we need a car, please.”

* * *

An hour and twenty minutes later, John and Sherlock were pulling up in front of a cottage several miles outside of the London area. There was a single light on in the rear of the cottage, likely in the kitchen.

Utilizing his military training, John checked the inside of the front door through a side window. He hadn’t been expecting it to be rigged for a trap, but one couldn’t be too careful when dealing with a person possibly off her antipsychotic medication.

The lock was old and worn, so Sherlock used his pocket knife as an artificial key, and the door soon opened. John pulled his gun and went in first. Three steps in, he stopped cold.

A blood-curdling scream, obviously released by a man, sounded from the kitchen, accompanied by another man’s shouts of, “No, please, he hasn’t done _anything_! Please let him go!”

The screaming stopped, but a heart-wrenching sobbing took its place.

The man’s voice spoke again. “He only works as a legal secretary, he really has nothing to do with your case. Please, just let him go!”

A manic-sounding female voice answered, her volume considerably lower and all the more frightening for it. “Oh, you know I can’t do that. He’d go running right to the cock-whore that is my ex-husband, and I wouldn’t get what I want. No, now his purpose here is to make sure you write that article the way _I_ want it written.”

“But… he’s not my partner, you _know_ that!”

A cold laugh was followed by, “Of course I know that, but you’ve just been begging me not to hurt him. If you do as I ask, both of your deaths will be relatively painless when you’ve finished. If not,” she trailed off threateningly.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Mitch responded, “Alright. What do you want me to write?”

“I want you to write about how gay men are incapable of raising children properly, that children need to have a mother in their lives.”

“What about single fathers, then?”

There was a harsh smack, followed by her shouts of, “Don’t question me, you bastard!” There was a moment of pause before feminine sobs could be heard. “He c-can’t ta-take away m-my children, he just c- _can’t_!”

At this point, John had managed to creep up next to the kitchen door. He could see Caleb through the crack between the door and the wall, bound to a chair with rope and bleeding copiously from what looked like a knife wound in his shoulder. He would be weak for several days, and might need a transfusion, but his life wasn’t in danger, not yet.

John could feel Sherlock at his back, tense and focused. Sherlock moved his mouth to John’s ear and whispered as lightly as possible, “Try and crack the door open further. She’s facing the other direction, and the hardware on the door appears new. It shouldn’t creak. Go slowly, though, so you don’t catch Mitch’s attention.”

Nodding ever so slightly, John did as instructed. As predicted, the door didn’t creak at all, and soon they could see Sherry’s back. She had a bloody knife in her left hand, but it was pointed toward the floor. Her right hand was clenched in a fist and resting at her left elbow. It looked to John like she had left it there after slapping Mitch—‘Right-handed, then, and god, I sound like Sherlock’—the sight of whom was still blocked by the kitchen door.

“Alright, John,” came the breath in his ear. “Lestrade should be here in about fifteen minutes, but these men are in danger. I’ll grab the knife on the counter next to you to use as leverage. Keep the gun out of sight so that she can’t give you up.”

John gave one decisive nod and waited for Sherlock’s whispered, “Now!” at which point they both burst into the room.

“Sherry, I suggest you drop that knife, or things are going to be even worse for you than they already are,” John commanded in his most threatening voice.

She spun, saw the two men there—one wielding another of her knives and the other standing clearly at military attention—and broke out into sobs.

Sherry dropped the knife, and Sherlock rushed forward to hold her arms behind her back. “Duct tape next to the sink, John, if you would.”

Once the still-sobbing woman was secured, John assessed Mitch’s condition. Despite the gash on Caleb’s arm, the journalist was in much worse shape. His face was covered in bruises on the left side—judging by the frying pan on the floor next to his chair, that had most likely been the weapon—and had several small but still-bleeding cuts and scrapes. The rest of him appeared to be uncut, as his clothing was not damaged, but if the frying pan had been Sherry’s weapon of choice, it was likely that there was bruising on his skin and possibly on several organs. There may even have been a cracked rib or two.

While John worked at untying Mitch, he instructed Sherlock to treat Caleb’s wound before releasing him to prevent excess blood from exiting through the wound.

Lestrade and his team arrived shortly thereafter and took Sherry into custody. An ambulance arrived shortly for Mitch and Caleb, and John called Robert to let him know their friends had been located and were being moved to hospital. Robert promised to call back after he and Alex notified Will and Parker, but John told him not to rush it. They should see their friends first.

* * *

What felt like days later, John and Sherlock finally hopped into the back of Lestrade’s car (Mycroft had sent someone to pick up the loaned vehicle) and were headed home.

John almost decided not to do anything in front of Lestrade that would give away the new dimension to his and Sherlock’s relationship, but a few moments later…

“Oh, fuck it,” he sighed, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and leaning into the taller man’s shoulder. Sherlock turned his face into John’s hair, and the doctor could feel the smile on his face.

John was glad he could make Sherlock happy enough to physically show it, even if only to John.

* * *

Having slept most of the way home, John was surprised when Lestrade stopped the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow to give your statements, lads,” he said. John could hear the undertone of ‘get out of my car so I can go home now, please.’

“Evening, Lestrade,” Sherlock responded, gently tugging John out of the car behind him.

Before Sherlock moved to unlock the door, John sleepily grabbed him, spun the man around, and planted a kiss on his lips.

It was very chaste and brief, but both men rather enjoyed it nonetheless.

John smiled and said, “I’m knackered, Sherlock, open the door already.”

Incredibly, the consulting detective blushed. “Can…. Can I sleep with you tonight, John?” Before John could even process what he’d said, he hurried to explain. “Not… anything else. Just sleeping.”

Nodding and smiling, the doctor responded with a simple “Yes.”

* * *

As he’d been more than half asleep when they had gone back to Baker Street, John woke during the late morning slightly disoriented. There was another warm body in his bed, and he made a habit of not bringing dates back to his own flat because Sherlock….

Oh, right. Sherlock.

That’s who was in bed with him, curled warmly around John’s back, a hand pressed lightly to his stomach. Carefully, John rolled over to face his bedmate.

Sherlock was always beautiful—even before admitting his feelings, John had known that. However, Sherlock in sleep was beautiful, peaceful, and _vulnerable_ in a way that left John practically breathless. John lightly placed a hand on the side of Sherlock’s head, his thumb trailing lightly over a prominent cheekbone as he smiled.

‘I’m an idiot,’ he accused himself.

**‘Yes, you are. You could have had this so much sooner if you’d just let go of your parental issues.’**

‘I know, alright? Go away and let me enjoy this now that I’m letting myself have it.’

A moment later, Sherlock sighed and mumbled, “John, stop thinking, it’s distracting.”

Chuckling quietly, John closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When John woke the next morning (or afternoon, rather), he was alone in bed.

John was worried for a moment that Sherlock had changed his mind, but then he reminded himself that Sherlock often got bored staying in one place when there wasn’t a case to think about, so he had probably just tired of staying in bed while John slept.

‘Come to think of it,’ John thought, becoming more reassured by the moment, ‘the fact that he let me sleep instead of waking me is rather encouraging.’

When John arrived in the kitchen, he almost wished Sherlock had changed his mind.

The kitchen of 221B Baker Street was always a mess, but usually the clutter and splatters had nothing to do with food. This morning, eggs, pancake mix, bacon grease, and all other manor of fry-up essentials were covering every surface of the room. Sherlock had even removed his science equipment so that the table could be used as another surface.

But most shocking of all was Sherlock himself. He had pancake mix all in his hair, probably from powder-covered hands grabbing onto it in frustration, John suspected. There were egg yolk stains on the left sleeve of his dressing gown, and an uncooked piece of bacon rested on his right shoulder (John was dying to ask how it had got there). What appeared to be marmalade had dripped down the front of his pajama trousers and ended up on his feet and the floor near the refrigerator. When John realized that Sherlock had turned to face him, he looked up into a face that clearly said, ‘Save me.’

Smiling, John asked, “What on earth are you doing, Sherlock?”

The man huffed. “I am not going to encourage that asinine question with a response, John.”

“Sorry,” he said, laughing again, “it’s just… not a situation I have ever seen you in, that’s all.”

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped. “I have no prior experience, and I’m suffering for it.”

John moved to get a rag from a drawer and run it under warm water. “Why were you trying to do a fry-up, anyway? Usually you don’t have a problem waiting until I’ve made something to eat after a case.”

“This is the first time we have slept together after a case.”

John turned, smiled, and reached up to wipe a bit of egg off of Sherlock’s face. “That is true. But what does that have to do with you making breakfast?”

Blushing again (‘I could get used to that.’), Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, “It is customary for the partner whose home was used the previous evening to make breakfast for the other. Since we both live here and you are usually the one to cook for both of us, I thought the duty should fall to me.”

John froze for a moment before slowly lowering the dishrag. “Sherlock… I’m pretty sure they meant ‘sleeping together’ euphemistically.”

He nodded. “I am aware.”

“Then why…?”

Another shrug, so unlike the usually-overconfident man. “It was still an out-of-the-ordinary request. I asked, and you accepted. I thought I should… do something to… reciprocate.”

Smiling widely at his… well, what he was exactly still needed to be determined, but John smiled at him and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s waist. Uncertainly, Sherlock moved his own arms until his hands clasped themselves at the small of John’s back.

Sherlock smiled down at John with a little more certainty. “I suppose… _this_ kind of contact is acceptable.”

John rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Better be. I’ll warn you now that I’m a cuddler.”

“I suppose,” Sherlock hedged teasingly, “that I can deal with that.”

“Good.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, John and Sherlock slowly adjusted to being in a romantic relationship together. Lestrade hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but Sherlock wasted no time in informing all of the detective inspector’s team. The first case after the ‘undercover boyfriends’ job, Sherlock walked onto the crime scene and immediately said, “I thought I should inform you all myself that John and I are now romantically, though not yet sexually, involved. Now you can stop speculating behind our metaphorical backs.”

John had blushed brightly, but he had to admit that the silence on the subject that had followed was very gratifying.

Sergeant Donovan had told him he was an idiot, but she had looked at Sherlock inquisitively, as if she was considering the idea that she was missing something. Anderson had asked if John was on something. Lestrade had patted Sherlock on the back and congratulated him on finally convincing John to give it a go. When Sherlock was busy observing the scene, Lestrade pulled John aside.

“So you’ve finally figured it out, have you?” Lestrade chuckled as he said, “Good on you, John.”

Shrugging slightly uncomfortably, John admitted, “Yeah, finally. I’m an idiot for fighting it for so long.”

Lestrade laughed. “Yeah, maybe. But obviously you weren’t ready before.”

“I suppose so,” John allowed. Then Sherlock called John for his opinion on the body, and the discussion ended. John made a mental note to get to know Greg Lestrade better. He was in the unique position of knowing Sherlock well enough to both sympathize with and scold John when the time called for it.

* * *

Eight days after Sherlock announced their budding relationship, John was doing the shopping. He was heading toward the check-out when he noticed the pharmacy section of the store and paused.

Other than a handful of semi-chaste kisses, nothing physical had progressed between him and Sherlock since the kidnapping case. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to—it was obvious that Sherlock expected their relationship to go that direction, as he had said ‘though not _yet_ sexual,’ and John was finding himself more and more excited at the prospect (pun intended). The problem was that neither knew how to get there.

John only had experience with women, which he expected wouldn’t be _terribly_ different but for the fact that he and Sherlock were already flatmates—no chance of casually asking “wanna come up” at the end of the date, since they both lived there anyway, and their dates usually left them both too exhausted (and sometimes dirty and smelly) for anything amorous—and best friends (awkward regardless of gender, really).

And, of course, Sherlock had never had any partner at all. The younger man had yet to display any outward signs that they were moving too slowly as a couple, but John thought that Sherlock might be following his lead in that. Or, possibly, that he was concerned but simply hiding it very well.

And so John stood there, contemplating buying lubricant (he already owned plenty of condoms, and he wasn’t entire certain that those would be needed for a while longer, regardless). He had never been embarrassed to buy this sort of thing before, but now that he was standing there actually contemplating which kind he and his partner would prefer….

His face was bright red, but he was ignoring it.

Of course, the blush was partly due to his embarrassment but mostly was the result of the thoughts and images running through his mind, thoughts about _how they were going to use the lube._

The thought of Sherlock spread under him, naked and panting, desperate for release, was tenting John’s jeans and sensitizing his skin. He could practically _feel_ the heat of Sherlock’s cock in his hand—which was ridiculous, because he’d never held another man’s erect penis before, even as a doctor (penises, yes—erect ones, no)—velvety soft and slathered with lube so that it slid easily over his palm and fingers. John thought about how his own cock would feel with Sherlock’s pressed against it, both sliding through his hand—or, oh god, through _Sherlock’s_ , with his long, graceful, violin-worthy fingers with the string-induced calluses on the pads of his fingertips.

When a shiver ran down John’s spine in the middle of the store, he finally made a decision. He and Sherlock would be furthering their relationship that night, no excuses. John _had_ to see Sherlock naked before he spontaneously combusted, damn it!

* * *

Sherlock was doing internet research. This was the second time in a month that he had been obliged to study up on romantic relationships. What he found was disheartening: most places he checked with insinuated that the amount of time that he and John had been romantically involved without any time of sexual encounter was longer than was accepted as usual (except in cultures where intercourse was discouraged outside of marriage, of course). John had shown no indication that he was prepared to advance this part of their relationship, but Sherlock was—to use a rather common phrase—going mad.

The only orgasms that Sherlock had ever had while awake (six in total between his eighteenth and thirty-fourth birthdays, the latter of which had been his most recent) had been self-induced and less than satisfactory. He knew that others insisted that self-given orgasms, especially those that started as a ‘morning erection,’ were never as satisfying as those obtained with a partner, but he had never really desired to inflict himself with that level of intimacy with anyone before. Sherlock had always known that he found men more attractive physically than women, but the only person who had managed to never make Sherlock bored… was Captain Dr. John Watson.

And now that Sherlock knew he could enjoy a physical relationship without risk of encouraging the attachment of someone unbearable, he wanted it. Badly. He had masturbated more in the last twelve days than he had in the seventeen years previous (one per day for four days, and then two or three every day after that—if he hadn’t known anything about anatomy, he’d be worried about performing when the time finally came). His imagination had never been so active, either.

‘Why is John waiting?’ he constantly asked himself.

It occurred to Sherlock eight days after he announced to Lestrade’s team the change in their relationship that John might be waiting for him to initiate. However, he soon dismissed that notion—Sherlock had made it perfectly clear that any physical relations between them would inevitably leave John in the dominant position.

‘Perhaps he thinks I was only referring to the situation we were enacting for the undercover operation?’ But that didn’t make sense either—John had clearly understood that that was in reference to the pair of them and not the situation.

There was a possibility, though slim, that John didn’t _want_ sex to be part of their relationship… but if the increase in John’s masturbation was any indication, he was just as frustrated as Sherlock.

All of these facts together left Sherlock with only one viable conclusion (though he would admit that, in this one subject, he did not know all possible outcomes—but just in this one subject, mind you). John must be unaware that Sherlock was ready to advance their physical relationship.

Sherlock decided he had two options: verbally announce that he was prepared for a sexual experience with John, or initiate the experience himself.

Now, Sherlock knew he was no expert in this field, but even he thought that telling John to instigate a sexual encounter was the opposite of productive (colloquially: unsexy).

That left Sherlock with no alternative.

* * *

John walked from the store with several bags in hand. He would have taken a taxi so that he wouldn’t have to walk the six blocks with the groceries, but he needed the time to think.

Or plan, rather.

Option A: Put the groceries away first.

Option B: Ignore the groceries and get right to business.

While B was far more appealing, John had just bought these, and they couldn’t really afford for it all to go to waste. But… he was tired of waiting.

He decided to go with Option C: Leave the groceries with Mrs. Hudson and tell her he’d pick them up later. Now he had another choice to make.

Option 1: Walk in and tell Sherlock that they needed to talk.

Option 2: Walk in and snog him to within an inch of his life.

John liked Option 2.

* * *

Sherlock perked up when he heard John come in the front door. He left his seat half-way before realizing that John had gone to see Mrs. Hudson first. Sherlock was confused, but he didn’t let it distract him from his purpose. John soon left Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen and started up the stairs.

As soon as he was through the door, Sherlock jumped him.

* * *

John dropped off the groceries with Mrs. Hudson, who asked, “Why in heaven’s name do you need to leave them _here_?”

Blushing, John admitted, “We’re… going to be rather too busy to put groceries away. I… don’t want to give myself any time to chicken out.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson sighed happily, her hands clapping once and then clasping them together. “Of course, I don’t need any details, not at my age, but I’m happy for you both, dear.”

With a smile, John thanked her and started for the stairs. He climbed up two steps at once and opened the door.

He’d had just enough time to notice that Sherlock was in the living room when he had an armful of amorous consulting detective.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock made up for his inexperience in kissing with his enthusiasm. John was momentarily grateful that he had retained his soldier’s muscle when Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs around him, John’s hands flying to Sherlock’s ass to hold him there, all without breaking the kiss (which was, of course, much deeper than the semi-chaste ones they had been sharing up until this point.

Chuckling, John pulled slightly out of the kiss and said, “Hey, this is what I was going to do!”

Sherlock reclaimed John’s lips before anything else could be said, but he moaned in approval. John held Sherlock to him for a time as they kissed each other fiercely, but his strength soon began to wane.

“Wait, Sherlock,” he gasped, pulling his mouth away. Sherlock let out a disappointed groan, but John laughingly added, “I’m not as strong as I used to be. I need to put you down.”

“Oh.” Sherlock sounded surprised. “My apologies.” Sherlock unwrapped himself and stood on his own feet again.

John felt absurdly bereft, so he kept his arms around Sherlock’s waist. “I think we should continue this in my bedroom,” he insisted breathlessly.

Nodding vigorously, Sherlock took John’s hand and immediately headed up the stairs.

When the door was closed behind him, John spun Sherlock to face him and walked the taller man backwards towards the bed. Sherlock felt his legs hit the mattress just before John pushed gently on his shoulders to sit him down on the bed.

John rather liked seeing Sherlock look up at _him_ for once, especially with his breath coming in pants and his pupils blown wide. Gently, John bent down, taking Sherlock’s head into his hands and kissing him lightly on the lips. “Are you certain—”

“Yes, God yes,” he panted as he pulled John’s head down for a deeper kiss. Sherlock slowly lowered his back to lie on the bed, John hovering above him with his weight resting mainly on his forearms.

After several minutes spent kissing each other, John found that they had moved so that he now laid on his back with his head on the pillows, Sherlock lying above him, one of the younger man’s long legs pressing lightly between John’s own. As John moved from Sherlock’s mouth to press open kisses to the man’s jaw, Sherlock moaned softly and pressed down more firmly with his thigh, putting more pressure on John’s groin.

John whimpered and bucked his hips lightly before reaching down and repositioning Sherlock so that their straining, still-covered erections were aligned.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock sighed, his voice exactly matching the first aroused words that had ever passed between them (in the cab after their first ‘date,’ the sound something John had thought the man had affected but which the doctor now recognized as genuine). Sherlock arched his back and pressed his cock heavily against John’s.

Gulping, and then gasping for air, John writhed underneath his lover. “Oh God, Sherlock!” he finally managed to say, voice hoarse with need.

Both men were too keyed up to last very long. Only a minute or two later, Sherlock shuddered and gasped, back arching and voice finally managing a strangled, “Oh!”

The sight of Sherlock Holmes in the throes of his first orgasm with a partner sent John over the edge. Grabbing the younger man’s hips in a tight grip, John arched and bucked, rubbing his hips sensuously against Sherlock’s nearly-recovering body. Swearing at the moment of release, John then buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, kissing it chastely as he felt his heart rate and breathing begin to slow to their usual paces.

After a short while, Sherlock looked up and said, “I would have thought we would—I believe the phrase is ‘go further’?—for our first foray, but I must admit that this was a wise choice, John. The enjoyment of both the act and the physical release surpassed my expectations, and we haven’t even touched one another yet. Very satisfying, especially for our first sexual encounter.”

Smiling, John said, “I know there’s a compliment in there somewhere, so I’ll just say: Thank you, Sherlock. You were wonderful, too.”

The self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath (and he might have to rethink that label now) smiled sleepily, rolled to John’s side, wrapped an arm around the doctor’s middle, and settled in to have a long sleep—Sherlock predicted that the rarity of that activity was about to diminish significantly.


End file.
